


We Must Love One Another or Die

by nosh



Series: A Rupture in Water [1]
Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Justin Foley, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Baggage, Everyone is Queer, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Clay Jensen, Rimming, Slow Burn, Top Clay Jensen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosh/pseuds/nosh
Summary: Clay brought Justin back from the streets, but you don't recover from that overnight just because you have a roof over your head. As the boys navigate the difficulties of living together while hiding Justin from Clay's parents, they form an unexpected bond. Will it be enough to allow them to move on from Hannah's death?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author notes: Story is set in Season 2, so, spoiler alert. I've aged-up all the characters to 18/19 so it's not weird. Chapters are going to be short because I'm impatient and don't have a ton of time to write--and because I don't want to keep you all in suspense too much. It will be a hot minute 'til the sex happens (sorry).]

Justin was having his first good shower in months; he watched the dirt wash down the drain, finally seeing his skin clearly, for once. He'd been going through the motions of un-being-dead for the past... however long. After a time it didn't even feel real anymore; he did not do things so much as he watched himself do them. The things Justin did, needed to do, to get by, to afford heroin, to afford food, to sleep in a bed, killed whatever light was left inside.

He now scrubbed, soaped, rinsed, repeated; a physical mantra used to escape from himself. It wasn't until Clay barged into the bathroom that Justin realized the bar was worn halfway down and the shampoo bottle was empty. When Clay threw open the shower curtain, Justin flashed back to a motel shower, where through the door a 40-something man--hairy, fat, disgusting--was waiting for him, naked, on the bed. He felt grateful he never had to, that he was never forced to...bottom, the men called it. Other boys had it worse, he told himself, and, anyway, he deserved it, after all he had done, and not done. Right?

Back to reality. Justin immediately grabbed the curtain and closed it again. He and Clay had a brief exchange--what about, if asked later, Justin would be only to gesture vaguely. He quickly finished, Clay unable to leave, to keep up the pretense that it was Clay in the shower, alone. Maintaining that charade meant, for both of them, both then and for the foreseeable future, choosing between his privacy and being able to stay. He couldn't abandon Jess again, so it was obvious which had to be sacrificed. Sometimes, Justin was able to shower while Clay's parents were out, but it wasn't always possible. Most times Justin would shower, Clay would wait on the other side of the curtain; Clay would hand him a towel, which he'd wrap around his waist; and they'd switch. 

Even so it was not easy to hide a teenage boy, in the same house where his parents lived. Since Hannah's death, Clay's parents kept a closer eye on him. So they noticed the longer showers, the uptick in used towels, the increasing frequency with which Clay ate in his room, with larger portions. 

Clay, never without a plan, was the first to propose an alternative. "So, my parents have been getting suspicious. We can't keep this up."

Justin fidgeted; he had been there for a good minute. Maybe Clay was sick of sharing his room with a recovering heroin addict in disgusting street clothes. The athletic swagger he once had was gone, replaced with insecurity, guilt, and self-hatred. Why would anyone want him? Want to be near him? "Do you... want me to leave? Because--"

Clay cut him off. "No, no! I just mean we need to do something different."

"Oh. Uh. Like what?"

"Like... cutting down on our shower time, and the towels we go through? Uh. Showering together?"

"Dude."

"I know, I know. But we need to do something. My parents have been saying things."

Justin looked down at the floor. "I-I guess we can try it."

So, they did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has suggestions about how to believably write about a guy coming to terms with his sexuality, I’d appreciate it! It’s gonna be a slow burn and I want to do it right.


	2. Chapter 2

It was weird, at first. But the novelty wore off, and the boys learned how to navigate the situation with less and less awkwardness. Eventually they were even able to look at each other. It happened naturally, a surprise given that they couldn't talk, else risk being found out, and Clay's natural stiffness, and the other's emotional devastation. Justin felt conflicted about it--as he did nearly everything--but, in a weird way, it was kind of nice? It was nice to not be alone, not be able to get so easily lost in his thoughts and intrusive memories. His mind was not a fun place to be, and the company helped. And it was not  _that_ weird. After all, he had showered after practice with the team nearly every day for years.

There was still the problem of being horny as hell. Despite everything, Justin was still a guy, still had needs, still needed to get off. He couldn't do it in the bedroom. Clay was there too often, and he didn't want to risk making a mess. For a bit, Justin had been able to sneak an jerk-off session or two in the shower; sure, Clay was on the other side of the curtain, but if he was quiet enough about it, the guy wouldn't notice. That wasn't possible anymore once they started showering together. 

The whole situation was so novel that Justin hadn't even noticed that it had been a week since he came. Once the awkwardness faded out, his realization of just how horny he was faded in. It didn't change his ability to do anything about it, though. No jerking off in the bedroom, no more jerking off in the shower, and he couldn't even go outside. He would just have to deal with it. Other people, priests, whomever, could do it, he thought, and so could he. What he failed to take into account is that here's a difference between  _deciding_ to masturbate and his body insisting that he should. 

They were in the shower one day when he tripped over himself, a new clumsiness from addiction and being on the streets, and was on his way down when Clay grabbed him. Caught up in the adrenaline, Justin didn't notice his growing erection, but Clay sure did. "Hey, uh," Clay met Justin's eyes and then nodded downward. 

Justin was mortified. "Oh, fuck. It's--um--it's not--it's just, you know, it's been a while and I haven't, uh, you know..." He turned around, trying to preserve his last shred of dignity. Even after the shower it took about an hour of reassurances until Clay was able to put him at ease. 

However comforted Justin felt, it didn't actually change the situation. He was still horny as hell, and the longer it was the hornier he got. He started getting hard, even without Clay touching him. And, as anyone who has met or been a man with an erection can attest, good decision-making goes out the door pretty quickly once a guy reaches full mast. It was only a matter of time before Justin's need to get off overcame his senses.

"Hey, man. Do you mind if... take care of myself?" Justin gestured toward his erection--another shower, another boner.

"Oh. Um... Sure, man. Not a problem."

Justin glanced back and forth between his dick and Clay, still unsure of himself, and a little surprised. They both knew that Clay could have gotten out of the shower, at least this once, but for reasons Clay didn’t fully understand, and which Justin was too preoccupied to notice, he didn’t. 


	3. Chapter 3

Immediately after picking up Justin from Oakland, Clay started having second thoughts. Was he really willing to share his room with a recently-homeless, smelly, un-showered guy whom he had never really liked all that much? Over the hour-long drive back, he forced himself to overcome those doubts; they started all over again when he discovered Justin's heroin. The thing was, he couldn't very well kick Justin out now--whatever had happened the year before, it was hard not to see in Justin an abused puppy. Like Hannah would say, "a sleeping angel." Instead, he called Tony, and--for the umpteenth time--asked for help. Early the next morning, Sheri crawled through his window to play Justin's nurse. Justin wasn't happy; Clay figured it was that Justin was more familiar with him. The school's attendance records didn't care what Justin wanted, so, albeit with some hesitation, Clay headed out for the day, assuaged by Sheri's promise to text him every hour.

Things started off alright for Clay, no different than usual . But an hour, two hours, three hours passed, with no word from Sheri. At lunch he texted her, but she didn't respond. Clay's mind started going to dark places: did she need to take Justin to the hospital? did Justin die? were they found out by his parents, or, worse, by whomever it was terrorizing everyone set to testify? When Clay walked into his room and found them both there, he was equal parts pissed that there wasn't a good reason Sheri hadn't texted him, and glad that Justin was alright. (Well, it depends on what you mean by "alright"; the boy was lucid, but well into his withdrawal.)

Sheri's shift was over, and she left the way she came, out the window, leaving Clay in charge of nursing Justin. Caring for someone when they're sick is an intimate act; letting someone do that, even more so. The former is seeing someone at their worst, ugliest, and most disgusting; the latter is letting someone see you in that state. If left to their own devices, Clay would not have chosen to see Justin through his heroin withdrawal, and Justin would not have let Clay do it regardless. But neither of them really had any choice in the matter. Clay needed Justin sober to testify; Justin wanted to be there for Jess, and didn't have anywhere else to go.

Clay wrinkled his nose, annoyed again; despite washing Justin's clothes, despite having him shower only the day before, the boy was back to smelling like dead feet. He ordered Justin to take a shower, and went downstairs to get the poor guy some food. When he came back up, he heard the shower running--Justin was doing what he'd been told. Before he could go into his room, his dad came up to him and started asking him awkward questions. Only by slipping quickly into the bathroom was he able to stop his dad from going into the bathroom to check the water temperature. And--well, you already know what happened next.

* * * 

To anyone with some sense--so, excluding Clay and Justin--it would seem remarkable that the two boys managed to evade detection for the two or three days they had already. Probably half due to the intensification of the goings-on with the trial and at school, and half due to, well, who they are as people, it didn't really register. For his part, Clay was also preoccupied with the fact that he wasn't able to jerk off at all. Maybe, he thought, he should have added that to the "cons" column when considering whether to let Justin stay with him. But things were what they were, and he would just have to cope.

For all of the time Clay spent worrying about Justin--which was, if he was being honest with himself (he wasn't), a whole lot--it hadn't occurred to him for some time that Justin might be having the same struggle. It finally hit him, figuratively and literally, when he saved Justin from a fall in the shower and discovered the guy's boner rubbing up against his groin.  _Oh_ _hhhh_. He could relate. And, when, a few days later, Justin broke down and asked if he could jerk off, Clay not only assented, he joined in with a well-I-don't-mind-if-I-do enthusiasm.

It was odd at first; neither of them had seen another guy's dick before. But the need to seed came before all else. Under other circumstances, they would happily get off anywhere between four and seven times in a day. Considering the situation, a once-a-day session, even in front of another guy, was not only  _not gay_ , but downright Puritan: an unprecedented exercise of self-restraint, a source of no small amount of guilt and awkwardness, and  _utterly unsatisfying_. "Something must be done," their dicks whispered to them; "AS LONG AS IT ISN'T TOO WEIRD," their minds added. 


	4. Chapter 4

They say a person can get used to just about everything--Justin was a case in point. Not only did he manage survive on the streets, but he also came to terms with Tony babysitting him. In fact, after a while, he started to even like the guy a bit. Playing cards helped, and reading Clay's comics together did too. Most of all, the fact that Justin was left with no alternative, and could not go outside, was motivation enough for him to get along. And, Justin thought, maybe Tony was starting to bond with him too. The laughs came easier, the conversation flowed, and he was, from time to time, learn something about Tony's life. Maybe, he wondered, it was strong enough to make it not-weird to ask--well, frankly, Justin had some questions about [vague hand-waving] the whole  _gay thing_.

Like, when you get married, who walks down the aisle? And how does the sex even work? And how do you decide who "bottoms"? Do you arm wrestle for it? Does anyone even like... _that_? But most of all, Justin wanted to know: am I attractive? Sure, Justin had fucked a lot of girls--okay, "a lot," like, five--but you spend several months homeless, be unable to shower, and lose a solid 10 pounds or so, and get back to me about how your self-esteem is doing. 

Poor Tony. It was a lot of questions at once; but, as one of the few out gays in his part of town, he had gotten used to this stuff. "I have no idea how gay weddings work, I don't even have a boyfriend; I'm not giving you the gay birds-and-the-bees talk; you use your words to talk about who does what like a reasonable god-damn person; no, you don't arm wrestle for it (unless you're into that); and, yes, guys like it, and sometimes they don't even like topping. And I am  _not_ telling you whether I think you're hot. That shit never goes well, because either I say the guy is hot and he gets weird about it, or I say he isn't hot and he's insulted."

"Okay, okay, please? What if I promise not to get weird about it?" Like I said, that shit will fuck you up. Justin needed some validation.

Tony let out a looooong sigh. "Fine. I'll tell you. You're not my type, but you're hot."

Justin had gotten a taste, and now he needed more. "What about a number, like from one to ten?"

"Nope,  _noooope_ , not doing that. Now either ante up or fold."

"Ugh. Fine." Justin did what he was told, and the two of them went back to their normal conversation. As promised, and to Tony's shock, Justin was decidedly not weird about being told he was hot. It made him like Justin just a little more.


	5. Chapter 5

The thing about being confined to a 12 foot by 12 foot room is that you tend not to be very tired when a normal person would be crawling into bed. But, because he was sharing a room with Clay, he didn't have much of a say of when he had to lay down. Rather than sleep, he was stuck with his thoughts. 

Now, Justin had just passed the two-week mark of staying in Clay's room. (Thank God Clay’s parents had resolved to give Clay some space, and anyway were too preoccupied with other things to actually go into Clay's room.) A lot had happened, and he had finally started to relax into the situation. It was, after all, the closest he'd had to home in a long while. But of all of it--the spark of friendship with Clay, the detente with Tony, the goings-on with the trial--what preoccupied him the most was jerking off with Clay in the shower. Like having a small snack when you're starving, Justin's once-a-day (at most!) orgasms had only made his hunger more acute. He was hard every morning, and when a breeze blew through the window, and, now that you mention it, he was hard right now. Weirdly enough, a lot of those erections coincided to him thinking about jerking off in the shower with Clay, or, more accurately, Clay jerking off in the shower with him.

Justin tentatively put his hand down his pants. He'd held off until now, worried that things would be weird if Clay caught him at it. But now, it occurred to Justin, that probably wouldn't be an issue given... _you know_. As he started to move his hand up and down his shaft, his mind kept going back to Clay: Clay being next to him as he came; Clay's dick; the sounds Clay made as he came. Even the time Clay accidentally pushed him up against the wall as they traded spots, trying to get under the water. What if... Clay hadn't just continued to the water? What if... Clay had held Justin's arms behind his back? What if... Clay had pushed himself up against his hole?  _Woah, wait what?_ Before Justin could change his train of thought, he came, thinking about Clay entering him. " _Justin_." An involuntary utterance, and a moan.

Of course-- _of course_ \--that's when he realized Justin was awake. And looking at him. They stared at each other in silence for a while. Clay spoke first.

"It's okay."

"Did you hear--?"

"Yeah. It's okay."

"Thanks," Justin replied, quietly, looking down.

More silence. Neither of them knew what more to say, so they both turned over and tried to sleep.

* * * 

In an odd reversal, Justin fell asleep, but Clay remained awake. It was his turn to ruminate on what had happened. There was an undeniable bond there. And there was something about coming home to someone--not just to his parents, whom, of course, he loved--but, well he didn't know what, but a  _someone_. It was comforting. His thoughts wandered to Justin's body. Justin had lost weight, and muscle, but his years of athletics still showed. He was lean, not skinny; he still had pecs, smaller than before but still there, still had abs, not as aggressive, but still clearly visible. Most of all, he had nearly no body hair except below his knees. Clay liked that, apparently. He had always hated his own body hair, ever since it first started coming in when he was in thirteen. Caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn't realized how much time had passed.

Justin started talking to himself in his sleep. Mostly, Clay couldn't make it out, but he was able to catch a fleeting, distressed, "no," and a "stop," and a "please." Clay wondered whether he should wake his roommate ( _is that what he is?_ ). Before he could, Justin woke up screaming. As if by instinct, Clay bolted out of bed to Justin's side. He wrapped his arm around Justin's shoulder and pulled him close. "It'll be okay bud. It was just a dream, a bad dream. You're safe." Justin babbled incoherently and sobbed into Clay's chest. Once Justin was able to calm enough to listen, Clay ventured, "Would it help to sleep with me in bed tonight?" Justin responded with a tearful nod "yes."

So they crawled into bed together. Clay was not sure what to do; should he embrace Justin? should he just lie next to him? Only God knew what Justin had gone through while on the streets, or what he had been dreaming about. He didn't want to make anything worse. To Clay's relief, the decision was made for him. Justin took Clay's arm and turned away from the wall; Clay was the big spoon. Justin pushed himself back against Clay, into the other boy's embrace. As Clay faded into sleep, he wondered if Justin felt his cock rubbing against his ass.


	6. Chapter 6

Things proceeded as normal the next day; neither of them discussed what had happened the night before, and Clay went to school while Justin remained in his room to be babysat and wait for Clay to come home. When Clay did, the evening was likewise little different than the routine into which they'd settled: Clay worked on his homework and reading for a while, then Clay went and got dinner for the two of them, they played video games together, and then, soon enough, bedtime. Neither of them knew what to expect then. Would Justin sleep in bed with Clay again? Would he be back to the couch? Could he get in bed if he woke up from another nightmare? Justin had ruminated all day on these questions. He _wasn't_ gay, of course, but he hoped he could sleep with Clay again. His life on the streets had shaken him to his core, eroded a central pillar of his confidence in himself and trust in those around him. Despite their past conflicts, he now felt safe with Clay, even safer when Clay held him. Clay had seen him at his worst, and had stuck with him. 

Clay was too busy in the morning to think much about what was to come that night. But his calculus class was mind-numbingly easy--the school had placed him in the lower-level calculus class despite his solid grades in previous math classes. The boredom let Clay's mind wander. As so often over the past two weeks, his thoughts wound up at Justin. He liked taking care of people, liked being their strength when he couldn't be his own. All of the more so since Hannah's death. When Clay had first found Justin, he assumed the boy would be the same jock asshole he had last seen. Justin's initial combativeness seemed to prove Clay right. It soon became clear that there was something inside of Justin that the past year had broken; something that felt an awful lot like whatever it was that was broken inside of himself. Justin was also more, to Clay, though Clay would deny it if asked; Justin was not just a victim, but a complex, rich person who clearly had _always_ had a soft center, a kindness; by some miracle, it had survived  _despite_ his time away. In any case, holding Justin made Clay feel just a tiny bit healed. It was the warmth of Justin's body against his, the feeling of strength when he wrapped his arms around Justin, the soothing pattern of someone else's breathe. The broken parts were slowly mending, the jagged edges smoothing, not returning to the way they were before, but assuming a different form. 

The problem with men, and  _especially_ eighteen-year-old men, is that they do not like to use their words to talk about their feelings, and even when they do, they usually can't. It is as if they expect aggressive wishing will make what they want to happen, happen. This is not how reality works. So, that evening, Justin found himself on the couch, again, and Clay found himself alone in his bed, again. There was an almost-tangible awkwardness in the silence between them; it persisted for at least twenty minutes. Clay thought about how much harder it was for Justin to let his guard down now, Justin's assumption that nothing was free, everything was a transaction, that asking for something meant you owed whomever gave it to you. Finally, an epiphany a long time coming: that Justin would not ask for something that he wanted, no matter how desperately he wanted it. Justin would only ask for what he  _needed_.

"Hey Justin. Do you, uh, want to sleep in my bed with me again?"

Justin was jolted out of his own thoughts, dark and haunting, and he was grateful for it. He held back for a moment, even considered saying "no." But this was home(ish) now, and so was Clay. "Yeah. Thanks." Clay nodded, and held up the blankets for the other boy. Justin crawled in and nestled up against Clay. This time, Justin rested his head on Clay's chest. Clay was startled for a second, but relaxed into it quickly. They both drifted off to sleep. That night, for the first night in forever, Justin didn't have a single nightmare.

* * * 

If you found it implausible that a teenager could live in someone's house for over two weeks and go unnoticed... well, you'd be right. Clay's parents caught on around day eight, when at dinner Clay took two helpings of everything, and then took second, empty, plate and put it under the first. Then, Clay's weird behavior and see-through lies about washing "his" clothes because he'd peed on them, or needing to study for school. Justin and his babysitters weren't exactly quiet, either. Clay's dad soon figured out that it was Justin--that poor boy from Clay's high school who had wound up homeless--who was staying in Clay's room. Given everything, they thought it best not to confront Clay about it, at least not just yet; things would resolve in due course. Plus, they'd always taught Clay to help those in need, even if this wasn't precisely what they'd had in mind. Such was the new laissez-faire model they had promised to Clay.

There was a line, however, between hands-off parenting and downright negligence. Eventually, it was time arrange an excuse to enter Clay's room and "be surprised" at finding a recently-homeless teen residing there. The pretense they decided upon was laundry: Lainie would dry and fold the clothes Clay would inevitably leave in the washing machine (a weekly occurrence), and bring them up to her son's room. She'd enter, "not expecting" anyone to be there. And the rest would be an awkward but much-needed family conversation about whatever it was those kids were doing up there.

Matt and Lainie executed the plan flawlessly. The ensuing conversation between them all, including Justin, involved no small amount of chastising Clay for wandering around rough parts of Oakland, for lying to them, and so on, and so on. What they did not expect was for Clay to be so forceful in insisting that Justin continue to live with them. They had never intended to throw Justin out--they knew he had nowhere else to go, and what kind of people would they be if they forced that poor kid into homelessness again?--but Clay's efforts were adorable, plus there was no stopping him when he got like this. So they figured they'd let him wear himself out. Eventually, they concluded that Justin could continue to live with them. He'd stay in Clay's room, but both he and Clay would have to eat at the dinner table with Matt and Lainie, like normal people.


	7. Chapter 7

Clay's parents finding out about Justin also meant that he had to go back to school. Justin felt a thousand ways about it. Terrified to face his former teammates; anxious about how to deal with all of the rumors; embarrassed, because so many people knew what he did, and didn't do. But he was also--kind of--excited to go back. As comfortable as he had become with Clay, and as grateful he was to be off the street, he was going to lose it if he had to spend much more time cooped up in Clay's room. He needed to socialize with people other than Clay, which he hadn't done, really, since he had left. When he lived on the streets, people ignored him, looked at him with pity, or used him for sexual gratification. There was another thing: being able to gain back the muscle he had lost. He felt so weak, and helpless, ugly. Being a homeless addict without enough money to afford food has a way of letting your muscles melt away along with your self-esteem. He wouldn't, couldn't, go back to the baseball team. There were other teams though--swimming, he thought, might be good. 

The next few months passed quickly, as time does when you're busy as hell. To Justin's surprise, it only took a few weeks for things to settle down. He found himself a part of Clay's friend group--all broken people who, were it not for Hannah, would hardly have spoken. It took him some time to let his guard down, but, like he had with Clay, eventually he did. It was just a matter of time and enough warmth. He also bonded with Zach a bit over the baseball team fallout. Nonetheless, returning was hard. He was hopelessly behind in some of his classes. Thankfully, Clay took it upon himself to catch Justin up and tutor him. It took an hour every week night and most of the day on Sundays; soon enough Justin was able to get the grades he needed to be on track to graduate. 

Justin also found out the hard way that swimming uses far different muscles than baseball does (he didn't make the swim team). That didn't stop him; he talked one of the varsity swimmers into helping him on weekends. (Actually, Zach had talked to the swimmer beforehand and got him to agree.) He didn't notice it himself at first, Justin made quick progress. Looking in the mirror, he could see his abs because they were actual muscles, not just because he had so little body fat. He put on a shirt, and was able to notice his pecs through the fabric. He turned in the mirror a little bit to see what else had changed: through his boxer-briefs, he could tell his ass had gotten bigger and firmer, something he had never paid much attention to before. He gave it a little slap and watched it jiggle. He smiled briefly.

Despite all of that progress, Justin still had his demons. He still had nightmares and sometimes woke up in a cold sweat. He still (he would never admit it) needed Clay to hold him to fall asleep. And, he increasingly realized, he felt lonely as hell even with Clay's near-constant company. He needed more than a friendly touch at night. He supposed that it didn't really matter what he wanted; who would want a scrawny drug addict who couldn't protect himself or anyone else?

* * * 

Clay also noticed that Justin was getting better. He laughed more. He no longer flinched when Clay hugged him. He slept better. He didn't need as much help with classes, and was getting better grades. Though they didn't need to stick to the rigorous original tutoring schedule, neither of them suggested changing it. What did change is that each session, they spent a little more time goofing off. One Sunday, Justin walked back in to Clay's room, fresh from his morning swimming practice. "Hey man." Clay was awake, lounging in bed on his phone. Justin gave a narrow smile. "Hey, I'm gonna hop in the shower and then we can get down to business, yeah?" Clay looked up and noticed Justin. Clay had seen Justin with his shirt off, wearing only underwear, in just a speedo, and naked, at least twice daily. He held Justin at night, and spooned up against him at night. But it didn't register until now, when he finally _noticed_ Justin. The guy had been attractive before--Clay liked girls but he could still see an attractive man when he saw one--now Justin was  _hot_ , not just in good shape like when he was on the baseball team, but jacked. It didn't hurt that Justin was wearing his shorts low and a white tank top, which he had sweated (or somehow else soaked it) all of the way through. 

"Clay? Hellooooo? Earth to Clay!" Justin waved his hand in front of Clay's eyes. Clay started. "Ah! Oh, uh, what?"

"You set for tutoring after I get out of the shower?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, totally."

Clay watched Justin walk to the bathroom. Somewhere in his mind, just below his consciousness, he took note that Justin's butt had gotten a lot bigger. 

Clay heard the shower turn on, and let his mind wander absentmindedly. Justin again interrupted his thoughts again. "You shower yet?" He had cracked the shower door and poked his head out.

"Nope."

They both paused a moment. Justin bit his lip; he was still tentative in much of what he did. It was odd, seeing a boy with all of the trappings of being a confident jock--the tank tops, the  backwards hat, the muscle--be so obviously insecure. Except it made sense to Clay. After so long sharing a room and a bed together, Clay had figured Justin out (admittedly, the physical changes had escaped his notice for a bit). Justin did not take anything without it being offered; would not make a complaint unless prompted; could not express a want if someone did not ask. He had noticed it first with the cuddling, how Justin struggled to say what he needed. So Clay had learned to detect and then to offer, prompt, ask, and sometimes tell.

"I'll join you."

"Cool." A casual word, but not enough to conceal the obvious relief on Justin's face and the spark of happiness in his tone. He released the door, allowing it to swing open a bit as he moved to get into the shower. Even before Clay stood up the door was all of the way open, giving Clay an unobstructed, if fleeting, view of Justin's ass. Bigger butt confirmed. Clay sloughed off his clothes while he made his way toward the shower, pausing here and there to peel off a sock, a shirt, a belt; he hopped the last few steps to the shower trying to escape his skinny jeans. Finally, he was there and naked. When he stepped into the shower he saw Justin look at him, ever so briefly, in a different way than ever before. It was not wholly new--Clay had noticed more uncertain versions during their showers before. But what really was different about it was that Clay knew what it meant. He kicked himself for not realizing it sooner, because it was something he was so good at noticing in Justin in every other way:  _want_. 

Just because Justin wanted something did not mean that Clay was willing to give it to him. _It_ was something that had crossed Clay's mind before (how could it not, in such an intimate arrangement), and Clay had always... not rejected it, _per se_ , but swatted it away. He was straight, of course. He had loved girls and wanted to have sex with girls. He masturbated to girls! He watched straight porn! And so was and did Justin. He didn't really want to kiss Justin, he didn't want to run his hands over Justin's body, he didn't want to have Justin sick his dick; not really. But, dear readers, we all know that isn't true at all, right? There was something going on, subtly, the kind of subtle that you might notice but then immediately lose track of again. And the thing about those sorts of something is that they accumulate. And eventually, the box or reservoir or wherever they've gone off to hide, is too full.

The past handful of minutes--five? ten?--were the crack in Clay's dam, the point at which his box would no longer close. 


	8. Chapter 8

Justin wasn't sure if he was more tired or more horny. This was a standard problem for him after practice. The endorphins and adrenaline fed his sex drive; the two-hour work out drained his body. It's a frustrating state of affairs to be in--too tired to jerk off, but too horny to sleep. While he waited for Clay to join him in the shower, he played with the heat settings on the shower, enjoying the feeling of the hot water beating against his sore back. Swimming was kicking his ass, but if it meant getting the results he wanted, he was fine with it. 

Momentarily, Clay joined Justin in the shower. Justin gave Clay what he thought was a surreptitious (it wasn't) glance up and down. He had been thinking a lot about Clay lately. Clay made him feel safe. Before everything had gotten all mixed up, he had always thought of Clay as a sweet guy, but never in a romantic or sexual way--never thought of  _any_ guy in a romantic or sexual way. (Okay, if he was being honest, he had jerked off thinking about Chris Evans a couple of times.) Since he started staying with Clay, though, something had registered with him about the guy. Justin's eyes had been lingering on Clay when they showered together. Things got real for him when he realized that more often than not he had been thinking about Clay when he jerked off. He hated himself for it. Clay had been so kind and giving to him. Clay had gotten him back on his feet; comforted him when he was hurt. He felt so guilty now wanting something more from Clay--especially because Clay wasn't gay. And if he told Clay, or if Clay found out he was ogling him... what if he freaked out and suddenly Justin was back on the streets? Justin knew Clay would never do that to him. _But_ \--. Anyway, Justin did his best to hide it, tried to keep his glances short, his touches casual, his tone cool. 

Now Justin found himself face to face with Clay, naked in the shower. Maybe not a normal situation for most eighteen year old boys, but for them it should have been. But Justin could not seem to make himself behave normally. Clay's eyes were boring into him. Justin could see the gears turning in Clay's head as he read Justin's face, as things clicked in to place. He wanted to bolt; he didn't want to wait around for the rejection. But whether it was that the swim practice turned his legs to lead or something else, he could not make himself budge. 

Rejection is not what came, though. Clay closed the small distance between them and gently put his hand on Justin's cheek. Instinctively, Justin sighed and leaned into the touch. Even though, by all rational measures, Justin knew Clay was reciprocating, he still kicked himself for being so vulnerable.

* * * 

Clay now had confirmation of what he had known for some time: not that Justin loved him, which he realized was true once he recognized the look on Justin's face, but rather that  _he_ loved Justin. The confirmation was mostly incidental to what was happening. Once Clay had decided to close the distance between them, there was no turning back; his body took over from there. He leaned in and gave Justin a gentle kiss, which Justin returned eagerly; they kept kissing, mouths opened, tongues entangled, until Justin was pressed up against the tiles on the shower wall. Justin moved his hand down toward Clay's cock and wrapped his hand around it tentatively. Clay thrust forward into his grip.

Rather than continue to jerk Clay off, though, Justin pushed Clay back gently and dropped to his knees. He looked up, locked eyes with Clay, and licked Clay's shaft, starting at the balls and ending at the head. Then he swallowed the thing whole. Clay let out a loud moan he managed to stifle only half-way through. Justin was unperturbed; he was focused entirely on Clay's dick. Part of it was how hot Clay was; part of it was that he liked pleasing Clay; part of it was that he wanted to thank Clay; part of it was that he wanted to show Clay how useful he was to have around. All of it was--if he did say so himself--the best blowjob he had ever given. He gagged several times but kept going, got his nose all the way to Clay's pubes; he fucked Clay into his mouth over and over until Clay announced, in a quiet whisper, "fuck, you're going to make me cum!" Then Justin looked up and locked eyes with Clay again and kept going. That desperate look was enough to push Clay over the edge, spurting cum into Justin's mouth and down his throat again and again. 

"Holy shit. That was amazing," Clay remarked, stunned. He looked down at Justin, who was still kneeling. "Did you cum? Do you want me to take care of you?"

"No, I got it." Justin was already fast at work on his own dick, jerking himself off furiously. After a moment, Justin asked, "but, uh"--he panted--"will you play with my hair?"

Clay happily obliged, pulling Clay's head into the crook of his groin and caressing his head. Justin thought about how he'd been able to make Clay cum, about how Clay had looked at him and finally seen him the way he saw Clay, about all the ways he would make Clay cum in the future, if Clay let him, about doing anything Clay wanted him to do. And then he came, hard. 


End file.
